I’m Over You?

“also….something you might be interested in,” he added in an e-mail with a link. I followed the link. It was to a local theatre group’s upcoming performance of Pride & Prejudice, the play.

I already knew about it, of course. For one, I follow the group’s page to keep abreast of what’s going on in Lafayette. Secondly, I’m a huge Jane Austen fan so of course I paid attention to a local production of Pride & Prejudice.

Two months ago I would’ve taken this simple line in an e-mail as a sign that he still thinks of me, still loves me even. I would have taken that morsel of attention and inflated it into evidence of his continued affection and hope that he might even call me and invite me to go to the play with him. [see Dangerous Hope and I’m Under a Spell]

Now, it just pissed me off. Duh, like I don’t know what’s going on in Lafayette. You don’t get to talk to me about Jane Austen anymore. You have a girlfriend. You’re dressing like a gay man. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.) Talk to Orange Tranny about the latest play. Take her to go see fucking Jane Austen while wearing some frat-boy outfit that she picked out for you. Don’t tell me about it.

Over him? Well, maybe not all the way there. Otherwise I might not be angry. I might not need to vent these feelings. But I know I’m getting there.

I knew I was getting there when Sam and I went to Pamplona’s for a pre-Blue Moon drink and he was there with Orange. Sam concurred with everyone else’s assessment of her tranniness with a “Damn!” We laughed and joked and hung around our friends at the bar.

I looked over at them and saw him lean in and talk to her. I could just hear his voice and guess what he might be saying. Probably something about work. They’ve taken to going to Pamplona’s every Friday and Saturday night, or at least they’re there every Friday or Saturday that I’ve been there. They sit at the same spot. How boring. Two months ago I was wishing that he would call me and ask me to go and sit with him like that. Now, I looked over at him talking to her and thought, “I’m so glad that’s not me.”

I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to be where I was. Joking with Mike, flirting with Sam, waiting on Liz.

Liz arrived and we decided to move on. I took Sam’s hand and lifted it above my head holding onto it as we walked out. “My liege, let us depart,” I said and we exited the joint.

I know I have a long way to go. I know I’m not completely over him because I want him to see me looking good. I want him to see me with tall, handsome Sam. I want him to see me laughing with abandon in my pink skirt and cute shoes.

But progress is progress and it was not very long ago that I was writing about being in love with him, wanting to see him, flirting with him and caring about whether he thought about me or not.